SPN Drabble Dean and his car
by NarutoMinamino
Summary: Dean Winchester likes to take long car rides; him, the open road, his Baby, and good music, with the road passing him by. Random blurb, nothing more. XD Rating for language.


Supernatural Drabble.  
Author: Naruto_Minamino  
Word Count: 924  
Time Start: 4:53 PM on 9 May 2010  
Time Finished: 12:03 AM on 10 May 2010  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: **I don't own Supernatural. Eric Kripke does, the bastard.**  
Pairing: Dean/Metallicar. Nothing dirty, you freaks.  
Warning: Angst galore in this. Enjoy.  
Note: This was written because of lachry_mose and her weird obsession with this pairing. Ahaha. I could be a weirdo and write that 'Baby' became human and all that, but I'm not that odd. This is definitely not one of those fics, so GTFO if you think it is. Takes place pre-pilot.  
Summary: Dean Winchester likes to take long car rides; him, the open road, his Baby, and good music, with the road passing him by.  
--Enjoy

Dean Winchester likes to take long car rides; him, the open road, his Baby, and good music with the road passing him by. It's better than the alternative, which would be flying. Dean doesn't like to fly. He doesn't like not being in control. Besides, when you're flying there's nothing there to hold you up other than the word of some pilot who's probably drunk off his ass.

He loved the people you met in small towns when you had to stop for gas. The freeway, what freeway? Dean Winchester drives the back roads of America. He had been since he was old enough to drive. (Well, old enough for his feet to reach the pedals). Interstates are too impersonal, he thought, why stop at some BP to get gas when you could go to some Mom and Pop place up the street and hear a good story over home cooked food?

Dean knew, deep down, that he was substituting his wrecked family with the families he met in these small town diners. Each time he stopped, he was guaranteed to find a waitress who would fuss over him, saying he was too skinny or he'd find some hot piece of all-American ass to look at and flatter, possibly to take back to his hotel for the night. Either waitress, pie was almost always on the house.

So here Dean is, driving along one of those back roads, eating a cheeseburger while he's driving. Stevie Ray Vaughn's _Pride and Joy_ is blaring through the speakers from some radio station that isn't dripping with bubblegum pop and auto-tuned bull shit. Real music, Dean thought.

They had been far, his beautiful '67 Chevy Impala and him. He remembered when his dad had thrown him the keys on his eighteenth birthday telling him not to 'fuck it up.' Even before then, Dean had been protective of his car, but since then if Sammy even _breathed_ on it wrong, someone was getting an ass whoopin'.

Sammy. Dean chuckled at the thought of his younger brother. He hadn't seen his brother since Sam walked out talking about going to Stanford three years ago. Damn, was John pissed then! The two (Dean and John) didn't talk about Sam after that; though Dean got phone calls on his birthday and on November 2.

Speaking of Sammy, Dean checked his watch before he pushed the last bit of his burger into his mouth. It was almost midnight, he should pull over. He was on his way to go and see Sammy, actually. He needed his help finding John, seeing as all he knew was that John had gone on a hunt and hadn't bothered to call back. This was actually not uncommon for the older man, seeing as Dean used to go _days_ without hearing from his father back when he and Sam were kids. But now, in the days of cell phones, a cell phone is a hunter's biggest ally, other than a bag of rock salt and a gun.

He pulled to stop at a red light as some other cars crossed the intersection and he pulled his map off of the seat next to him. With his flashlight, he could see that he only had two more state lines to cross before he got to California, then he just had to figure out how to get to Stanford.

It wasn't exactly that Dean needed Sammy's help, more of the idea that he wouldn't be alone in this again. He never thought it was fair that Sam could have a normal life and he couldn't, but he got the car and all of the women. What did Sammy get? College education. Dean never thought he was cut out for school anyways.

So, Dean pulled into a motel parking lot and put the car in park. He could sleep in his car, but then there was the fact that police don't exactly like it when you do that on the side of the road. He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and began looking through his credit cards. Looks like the new winner was Mark Slade; he hadn't used that card in a while. Looks like that one was buying the room for the night.

He went and got a room from the owner, waking her up in the process. She lowered the fee, which was nice; whoever said that a smile and a bit of flirting couldn't get you anywhere was wrong. He walked back to his car and pulled his overnight bag out of the trunk along with a gun and some rock salt and a six pack of beer; always the Boy Scout. He locked the doors and walked over to the room he was staying in for the night.

"Well, good night, baby. See you in the morning." Dean said before he walked into the hotel room and shut the door behind him. He dropped his stuff to the floor and walked over to one of the beds, grabbing the remote. He plopped on the bed, grabbed a beer and pulled the top off before taking a swig. Nothing on the TV, he thought before he settled on some mind numbing infomercial. This hotel didn't even offer anything for late night, which sucked. He finally just turned the TV off and leaned back on the bed, resting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.

Tomorrow, he was going to finish his trek to Stanford and get his brother back. Tomorrow, he thought, tomorrow.


End file.
